There is nothing quite so disconcerting as being crammed with a few hundred other people into a narrow metal tube with wings. Normally we avoid close proximity to strangers like the plague not least because we fear the microbes and other nasties they are probably going to infect us with. Yet here I am touching elbows with someone from God knows where. The upside is that he gave me a frosty glare when I warily said hello after finding my seat. So, no exchanging travel plans which is a relief. He also hasn't sneezed or coughed yet which is a positive sign. At least he isn't wearing a surgical mask like a passenger I saw at Auckland airport. I bet his neighbour was pretty pissed when he sat down beside them.

When I was planning this trip I researched ways to avoid getting infected in the close confines of an aircraft cabin. The depressing consensus was that this is mission impossible. A common advice was to regard seat trays and toilet door handles with deep suspicion and disinfect them. So I duly went to the supermarket and bought a large packet of disinfectant wipes, a small number of which I duly decanted into a ziplock bag. I also bought a large packet of baby wipes on the basis that toilet paper might be in short supply in some of the destinations we are visiting. A small number of these were also ziplocked for the flight just in case. I know it's unlikely that Singapore Airlines won't have stocked up before such a long flight but the prudent traveller is prepared for all eventualities. Finally, I loaded a third bag with a number of hydrating face wipes. This last luxury was prompted by an article I read on the internet which pointed out that the humidity in an aircraft cabin in not dissimilar to the Sahara desert. It seemed sensible to avoid the perils of dry skin.

Luckily, the security staff in Auckland didn't take exception to my three little plastic bags packed with wads of white tissue soaked in various chemicals which, for all they knew, might be some exotic nerve agent. The man in front of me was less lucky. He had three small jars of Manuka honey in his carry-on baggage. He had obviously bought them in an airport shop at an eye watering price I suspect. When he was told they were being confiscated he was as outraged as it's possible to be when you know the person who is swiping your expensive honey can summon armed security in the blink of an eye. He tartly pointed out that they were not liquids. Quick as a bullet out of a gun, the security person countered that they were, in fact, a gel. I had to admire her complete indifference to the questionable scientific basis of her staement. This obviously wasn't the first time she'd encountered contraband honey. The honey man opened his mouth like a gold fish and was about to argue the point but then thought better of it. As he walked away I heard him splutter, 'It depends on the temperature' thus demonstrating that his grasp of the physical properties of honey was superior to his uniformed opponent. Life is so unfair. The encounter illustrated a universal rule. In the battle for truth; uniforms have the distinct advantage.

Now that I'm actually on board, I'm a little hesitant about getting out my disinfectant wipes and scrubbing my seat tray. I'm surrounded by people who, because of their boredom, take a sly interest in the peculiarities of their neighbours. I don't want to get reported to the cabin staff for suspicious activity. I mean, how would you react if you saw someone carefully wiping the door handle of the toilet as if they were removing their finger prints?

I have sureptiously given my face a quick wipe to keep dehydration at bay. My neighbour looked sideways disapprovingly as he got a whiff of my perfumed wipe. Embarassingly, in the darkness of the cabin I opened the wrong ziplock bag and wiped my face with the baby wipe. Let's hope they are as hydrating as the wipes I should have used. At least I've disinfected my face which can only be good.

This obsession with moisturising my face has been rather undermined by the consumption of an extremely strong gin and tonic and two red wines which, internet experts say, will dehydrate me more than the cabin air. Either the altitude has made my taste buds more sensitive or that really was a killer g&t. Apparently, it's a bad idea to consume alcohol at high altitudes. But, come on, who in their right minds turns down free alcohol? My ostentatiously unfriendly neighbour asked for a glass of water and is sipping it slowly with what, I assume, is self satisfied superiority. He has the air of a man who takes the perils of mixing alcohol and high altitude travel extremely seriously. Thats all very worthy but guess who's going to have better looking skin when we land?

Travelling in an aircraft is like a rather bizarre form of imprisonment. Granted, you are able to go to the toilet in a more civilized fashion than most inmates and they feed you quite well even if it is at very strange hours. But, and this is is crucial, you are a prisoner strapped into a very narrow seat whenever the crew decides you can't be trusted to walk around. Even when you are allowed to explore your surroundings, the possibilities are severely limited. I've walked to the back of the cabin several times now and have exhausted all the possibilities of amusement. On my second trip there was a man standing like an ostrich holding one of his feet in his hand. Periodically, he would swap feet and rotate his head rather like some exotic bird performing a mating ritual. He studiously avoided eye contact. What was extraordinary was that he didn't seem in the least self conscious. I was tempted to ask him if he did that sort of thing beside the toilets at his work place but decided he didn't look like he wanted to engage in conversation. I'm beginning to think if would be more fun in a prison exercise yard. At least there would be the odd fight with a rock in a sock to liven things up.

As the flight wore on, I noticed more and more lonely souls making their way to the rear of the plane. They looked desperate for company. In any other context a group of strangers congregating immediately adjacent to the toilets might raise eyebrows. But here there was a simple explanation. Even an entertainment system with a zillion choices eventually becomes boring and people crave the company of other humans. There's hope for the human race after all!

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